Brother Dearest
by itachi-is-here
Summary: Iceland writes a letter to his brothers after years of repressed emotions. One day, they finally flew out of the pen, and they made sure his last words were "I love you, brother dearest."


**A/N: Hi there! This is my first foray into the Nordics, so bear with me. A bit of a writing exercise sort of thing, since letter writing was never my strong point... Yeah, I should probably be working on Play My Game or To Dream, but oh well! I've got the first paragraphs of the new chapters done, so that's a plus. Kind of. I'm rambling again... Anyways, this is a little letter writing thing from Iceland's POV to Norway, and is probably super OOC. I see Iceland as the kind of guy with a blank face and mildly irritated attitude, but he also has so many repressed emotions and mixed feeling about his "siblings". I feel like he's the Canada of the Nordics, plus I need some angst in my stories.**

**Hope you enjoy, anyways!**

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><p>The black-inked gel pen shook in my pale, slender hands as my silver-white bangs fell forward to cover my eyes. The blank piece of paper screamed at me to write already and <em>Stop being such a pussy, Iceland. It's just a stupid letter<em>, but for some reason, I couldn't bring my pen to form the words I wanted. There was so much I had to say, and no words to say it with. I laughed at my inner monologue with something bitter in my tone and a sick feeling in my gut.

_He wouldn't want you to be such a scaredy-cat. He'd want you to be a man, even if he wouldn't show it._

I took a deep breath and closed my eyes. I lowered my pen to the page, and opened my eyes just a fraction. A small, liquid onyx dot was all that I had marked on the paper. For some reason, I felt drawn to the tiny ink blot. It made me inexplicably furious, and at the same time, made me want to expand it. Make it into words and feelings that I couldn't express any other way.

_Dammit._ I thought. _It's just a stupid letter. I've written them countless times in all my years of life, and there's nothing different about this one._

But even I could tell that I was lying to myself. I stared at the little black dot again, contemplating what made that dot so significant. Unknowingly, that simple little dot had been drawing me down deeper and deeper. It was the catalyst that broke the dam and started the flood. Before I knew it, I saw nothing but words flowing in curling script across the blank white page. Obsidian stains marred the canvas, repressed emotions stuck inside of me for years simply tumbling out from the tip of my pen. It all started with a simple phrase, containing the words that ruined it all.

_"Dearest Brother,_

_I'm sorry."_

I couldn't even make it past "brother" before I broke down into tears. They splattered onto the page, mixed with the jet-black words and ran down onto the pristine white of my skin and clothes, of my bare hands and perfectly pressed trousers. My words melted away into what was only a memory, burned behind my eyelids and into my violet irises. The pen slipped from fingers and to the floor in front of my knees. Somehow, I had collapsed to the floor. And somehow, I couldn't bring myself to care. All I saw was black bleeding down white, centuries of pain and suffering and loneliness and _hatred_ fading away into nothing but ink and tears.

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><p><em>Dearest Brother,<em>

_I'm sorry._

_I'm sorry I never called you "brother"._  
><em>It was too painful, letting you into my life again. Giving you that position would have made you something more important that you already were, and I couldn't afford that. I couldn't afford to be overlooked like I always had been.<em>

_I'm sorry I never helped you when you needed it._  
><em>When Denmark got rushed to the hospital for the axe he took to the chest. You needed someone there. You needed a brother. I never consoled you like I should have. I never helped you when you were having conflicted feelings about being in love with Denmark. I never congratulated you on plucking up your courage and confessing. I knew I never should have taken that DNA test.<em>

_And I'm sorry I never got to tell you that I loved you._  
><em>You really were my brother, and the best one I could have asked for. You were stoic to everyone else but Denmark and myself. You opened up to me and showed me your vulnerable side, even when I offered you nothing in return. You never gave up on me, even though I had already given up on myself. But, at least I'm telling you that I love you now, right?<em>

_I guess I'm really just trying to say that I'm sorry I've always been too scared to tell you anything to your face._

_So goodbye, brother dearest. I'll watch over you from the heavens."_

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><p>Norway's reading of the letter aloud suddenly ceased. The tears finally spilled from his normally-blank eyes.<p>

"Well?" Denmark prodded, anxious and teary-eyed. "Is that it, then?"

Norway shook his head, shoving the paper in Finland's direction. The Fin looked apprehensive through his tears, but picked up the paper regardless, and read the last sentences with a trembling voice.

"I love you, brother. I love all of you, actually. But I had to do this. It was too much. I let you all in, and I couldn't just push you out. So I was a coward again. Don't worry, I'll be reborn again as a child with no memory of who you are. Please, if you find me, Norway, make sure the first thing I tell you is, 'I love you, brother dearest.'"

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><p>Iceland's dead, mutilated body was found inside of his bedroom, lying in a puddle of blood and ink. There was a neatly addressed note on his bloody desk, and a black-inked piece of paper clutched to his chest. A pen was plunged into his heart, and his skin was marred with faded scars that made up all of the names of people he loved.<p>

_I love you, brother dearest._

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><p><strong>AN: Is Iceland the kind of character to kill himself? I think he might. After centuries of being a stoic little country, he's gotta lose control at some point in time. Oh god, someone tell me what sort of atrocity I've just written….**


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